One Call

By Wendy Williams

It’s just another emergency call until the call handler recognises the voice of her own attacker.

Introverted 999 call handler Hannah receives a call from Tina, who has been drugged and date raped. Before the line goes dead, the attacker shouts and Hannah recognises his voice as the man who raped her over a year ago.

This makes her the only surviving witness in a case against a rapist and murderer.

It’s time to report her own attack.

But filing the report will make her his target.

Hannah’s only hope is to identify the attacker so that he can be found and arrested. On the run and hunted, can she bring the killer to justice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jan 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781805146674

Wendy Williams

Science journalist Wendy Williams has spent her life outdoors, either on the back of a horse, on skis, or on her own two feet. She has spent a great deal of time in a variety of countries in Africa, walking in the fields and forests of Europe, and exploring North American mountain chains and prairies. She lives on Cape Cod in Massachusetts with her husband and her Border Collie Taff. She is the author of The Horse and The Language of Butterflies.

Book preview

Contents

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Acknowledgements

1

‘Police emergency.’

Silence. That happens. For all sorts of reasons. The call flashed up as a triple nine, so Hannah tries again.

‘You’re through to the police. Do you need police assistance?’

Still nothing. This is odd. Hannah is trained to listen and there’s always something; background noise, muffled voices, sounds of distress, music, car engines, something, anything. Not right now. The first trickles of a shiver creep down her spine. Hannah is alert, still. She senses the colleagues who are not on calls responding to her tension. Their heads turn, their eyes on Hannah.

‘Caller, can you hear me?’

Hannah could end the call, but something stops her. Something about the silence. It feels physical, frightening.

A shocked silence.

She shuffles to the edge of her seat as if bringing her body closer to the computer screens will help. Hunched forward, eyes closed, her chin dropped towards her chest. They all do it. It does nothing to improve hearing but somehow hunkering down and blocking out the surrounding bustle from a dozen other call handlers, despatchers, supervisors, and police officers brings the caller closer. Hannah is practised at shutting everyone else out. Her call, this call, is the only one that matters.

It’s two forty-five in the morning. Late bars are closing, but night clubs still buzz with hyped-up individuals who don’t know if it’s day or night. They’re too drunk to know the difference between a life-and-death emergency call and a giggle with friends. And much, much too stupid to care.

But after a year or two on the job instincts deep within the gut work overtime. Hannah can’t say why she thinks this is a genuine call rather than a prank, why her senses are on high alert. It’s a visceral reaction. There’s a tone to the silence.

A sound.

A single breath. And another. Frantic, irregular breathing. Someone is afraid, or in shock, or hurt. Or all three.

What an ordinary night this had been. Routine. A quiet shift.

Colleagues chatting and sharing sweeties, tooth decay a hazard of the job. When the call flashed up on her screen Hannah had spat her half-chewed wine gum into the waiting tissue.

She tries again.

‘Caller, can you hear me? Do you need police assistance?’

A hushed sound. A sob or a smothered laugh? Hannah’s face contorts with concentration.

‘Do you need help, caller?’ Hannah hears a faint mewling like a kitten calling for its mother. Her brow furrows. She waits and listens. More silence.

She considers ending the call when a voice whispers.

‘Please.’

Female, young. Her voice is muffled, her mouth too close to the phone. The word slurred but understandable. Is she drunk? It doesn’t matter. There is no discernible background noise, but the clarity of sound presents Hannah with an overwhelming vision of a mortuary. Not an echo, but an emptiness, as if life has already slipped away.

‘Caller, can you talk?’

‘Please, help me.’

The voice trembles. This girl is scared. Hannah lowers the tone and volume of her own voice and speaks with purposeful calm.

‘Where are you?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Tina.’

‘What’s your surname, Tina?’

‘Cashen.’

Hannah keys the information into her computer.

‘What’s your home address?’

Tina gives an address in the south of the city. As she answers the routine questions, Hannah hears Tina’s breathing settle, and her speech becomes clearer.

‘Are you at home, Tina?’

‘No.’

Hannah creates an incident log using Tina’s home address to record the information.

‘Can you tell me your date of birth?’

The computer identifies Tina. She has had no prior contact with the police force. Hannah calculates that Tina is nineteen years old. She tries again for a location.

‘Where are you, Tina?’

‘I don’t know.’

There is a quiet whimper. Primitive, wounded.

‘Are you injured, Tina? Do you need an ambulance?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Good.

‘Are you in danger?’ Hannah hears a sob and then a muffled panting. The girl on the phone is trying not to make a noise. Hannah is so attuned to listening, the noises paint a vivid picture in her mind. Tina is hiding, cowering somewhere with her mobile phone clutched in her shaking, sweating hand.

‘I can’t get out.’

Out of where?

‘What’s happened, Tina?’

‘I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything after the bar. One minute I was there and the next I wasn’t. I was, I was… here.’

Rohypnol. The date rape drug. Or at least something like it. Something to knock Tina out and erase her memory. Hannah’s stomach knots. Her brain is exhuming unwanted memories. She bats away the nausea forming at the back of her throat. She knows about this. Only too well. Hannah must keep Tina calm. She remembers a bar. Her last known location might be a clue to where she is now.

‘Which bar were you in, Tina?’

‘The Grape and Glass.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘There was a man.’

Of course there was, there always is. He bought her a drink. Slipped in a pill.

‘He paid for the drinks.’

Tina’s voice has dropped to a mumble as if trying not to be overheard. Hannah guesses the man from the bar is close.

‘Is the man there, Tina?’

‘Next door.’

‘You’re doing well, Tina,’ reassures Hannah. ‘Really well. What happened after the drink?’

‘My friends wanted to go. Not me.’

‘So, did you stay, Tina?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did your friends leave?’

‘He promised me a taxi.’

Tina is avoiding the question. Hannah still has no idea what has happened, or why Tina has called for help. Or, more importantly, where she is.

‘Told my friends to go.’

Quiet sobs fill Hannah’s earpiece.

‘Take some deep breaths, Tina.’

‘I wasn’t going to go with him. Not stupid. Just another drink.’

She stops talking and Hannah listens to sniffs and snivels. Tina sounds so young. Hannah’s heart somersaults inside her rib cage.

‘Tell me what happened after the drink, Tina.’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Do you remember leaving the bar?’

‘No.’

‘Do you remember the man’s name?’

‘Andrew.’

Probably false, thinks Hannah.

‘How old was he?’

‘Thirtyish.’

Too old for you.

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Tall. He was tall.’

‘What colour was his hair?’

‘Brown.’

‘Can you remember anything else?’

‘No.’

Hannah changes tack.

‘Do you know what time you left the bar, or where you went?’

‘No. Just woke up…’

She can’t finish. Her tears smother her power of speech. Hannah is confident that she can finish the story, but this is Tina’s narrative. She has to say the words. Hannah’s scalp is tingling with dread and something much worse. A horrifying memory she has tried to bury in a place where she hoped it could never be dug up. Yet still the memory haunts her from the minute she wakes until the moment she falls asleep. A memory that imprisons her.

Focus on the call, she tells herself. This isn’t about you. Focus. She adjusts her mouthpiece, presses the earpiece into her ear and returns her hands to the keyboard. The empty location box on the incident screen is burning Hannah’s eyes.

‘It’s okay, Tina, you’re going to be okay. Take a deep breath.’

Hannah takes one too.

‘What happened when you woke up, Tina?’

Hannah feels that her words are irrelevant, meaningless, whipped away by the force of Tina’s distress. But a human voice can be a lifeline for a person who is alone and afraid. Tina needs to know that someone hears her and is going to help. She needs to have hope.

Tina sniffs then whispers into the phone.

‘I woke up on a bed. On my front. Him behind me. Inside me.’ She pauses to sob and gulps in an effort to stifle the sound. ‘Him banging away like an animal. Like I was an animal.’

Hannah screws her eyes shut as she feels Tina’s experience. Her stomach muscles contract. Beads of sweat form at her hairline. Tina’s voice is quieter, more controlled. She needs Hannah to understand.

Hannah wants to shout that she does. She knows what it’s like to have your face pushed so hard into a duvet that you think you will suffocate. She knows what it’s like to be used, defiled, and pummelled against your will. To be treated like nothing and left feeling like nothing.

‘He was hurting me. I tried to say stop. I tried. My voice didn’t work.’

Hannah absorbs the young woman’s distress. She wants to say, I know Tina, I know. It’s difficult for her to concentrate but she gathers every resource she possesses to follow this call through. She types ‘rape’ into the ‘What’s Happened’ box on the computer. She senses the disturbance across the room as the inspector, sergeant, supervisor and dispatcher are alerted. Their questions jump onto Hannah’s screen. They want a location. It’s Hannah’s job to provide it. For now, all she can type is ‘unidentified’.

‘Okay, Tina. You’re doing well. Keep going.’

‘I couldn’t move. He finished and rolled away. I don’t know how long it had been going on.’

Hannah’s breath catches in her throat. Focus, she tells herself again.

‘He kept shouting, you bitch, you bitch, over and over.’

Like you made him do it, Tina? Like it’s your fault? That’s what he wants you to believe.

‘I don’t know where my clothes are.’

Hannah’s insides churn, and her hairline is damp with sweat. She pulls off her clip-on tie and undoes the top button of her uniform shirt.

‘Where are you now, Tina?’

‘In the bathroom. He’s still on the bed. Asleep. I couldn’t move for ages. When I got up, I tried to run but my legs wobbled, and the door wouldn’t open. My fingers wouldn’t work. I couldn’t get out. I got my phone. Locked myself in the bathroom.’

Officers must be sent to assist this girl, but first Hannah needs to find out where she is.

‘Have you any idea where you are?’

‘No, I just woke up with him doing that.’

Hannah’s mind races. Tina could be anywhere in the city. In any room. It will be like searching for an ear stud in a sack of rice. She wishes life could be like an American movie where the cops ping a phone and send squad cars rushing to the scene.

But there’s nothing to stop Tina pinging herself.

‘Tina, do you have Google Maps on your phone?’

When Tina speaks, her voice has the strength of a scrap of muslin flapping in the breeze.

‘I don’t have a signal.’

Hannah’s legs jiggle under the desk.

‘Nothing?’

‘No. I don’t know how I’m calling you.’

‘You’ll be camped on to another network. They all work together to support emergency calls.’

‘Can’t you track my phone?’

‘The police are not allowed to do that without signed permission. But if you don’t have a signal, it can’t be done anyway.’

Tina falls quiet.

Hannah feels punctured. There must be another way to find this girl.

‘Tina, can you hear anything?’

‘No.’

‘Can you see out of the window?’

‘There’s no window.’

‘Can you tell me anything about the room and bathroom?’

‘Um. I think it’s a hotel.’

Hannah types ‘unidentified hotel’ in the location box on her screen.

‘Did you see any logos or signs in the room?’

‘No. I feel a bit dizzy, and my eyes are funny.’

Drugged for sure.

‘What about the bathroom? Are there any toiletries with logos or names?’

The sound of Tina’s breathing quietens as she moves the phone away from her mouth.

‘There are tiny shampoos and stuff. Zephyr Spa.’

‘Is the name of the hotel on the packaging?’

‘No.’

Hannah is out of options. She has no way to locate Tina and no way to send help. If the man next door were to get up and leave, Tina would be safe. If he doesn’t, she is still vulnerable. As far as Hannah can see, Tina has only two options. She can wait it out in the hotel bathroom and risk being attacked again, or she can try and get out.

‘Okay, Tina. I need you to concentrate. Most hotels have key cards for the door, so if you couldn’t open it, I’m guessing it was locked from the inside. Do you think you can leave the bathroom and try the bedroom door?’

Hannah’s question elicits another small sob.

‘I’m scared.’

‘I’m going to send police officers to help you, Tina, but I need to know where you are. Have you got something to wear?’

‘A robe.’

Hannah’s pulse quickens.

‘Is there a logo or name on the robe?’

There is the soft rustle of fabric as Tina takes it off.

‘Nothing.’

Dammit.

‘Tina. If it’s safe to do so, I want you to try and get out of the room.’

The pitch of Tina’s voice rises again. ‘No! He might wake up.’

‘I can’t send help because I don’t know where you are. Do you think you can try and leave?’

‘But if he wakes up…’

‘Then scream, Tina. Scream as long and loud as you can. You’re in a hotel. Someone will hear you.’

‘I can’t.’

Tina is crying again.

‘Tina, I must know where you are.’

Hannah knows it’s a risk asking Tina to leave the safety of the bathroom, but she’s out of options.

‘No, I can’t.’

Hannah has one final idea.

‘Tina. Can you peep into the bedroom while he’s asleep? Try to find something with the name of the hotel on.’

Silence.

‘Tina?’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. Keep your phone on, Tina. Tell me what’s happening.’

‘I’m going to open the door.’

‘Okay, Tina. I’m here. I’m listening.’

The dispatchers are questioning Hannah again. ‘Where is she?’ I don’t bloody know, thinks Hannah.

She can hear Tina’s breath over the phone but there is no other discernible noise.

‘It’s open,’ whispers Tina.

‘Good girl. Tell me what you can see.’

‘Just the room. He’s on his back, asleep. The curtains are shut. It’s dark.’

Hannah’s brain is racing. She wants to ask Tina to make a run for it, but she knows it’s too risky. If Tina fumbles at the door the man could wake and grab her. There has to be something in that room that will give them a clue.

‘Can you see anything with the name of the hotel on?’

There is a short pause before Tina replies.

‘I think there’s a pen and pad by the bed.’

‘Can you get it, Tina? Can you get it and take it back into the bathroom? It might have the hotel’s name on it.’

I hope, thinks Hannah.

All she can hear is Tina’s breathing. Hannah has no idea of the size of the room, nor the exact location of the pad and pen.

‘His eyes are closed,’ whispers Tina.

‘Don’t speak. Just get the pen and paper.’

There is a pause then a clatter. The noise of a pen dropping onto a hard surface. A male voice shouts.

Tina gasps. Her voice is a squeak.

‘Let me go!’

There is a clunk as her phone lands on the floor.

‘Tina! Can you hear me? Tina, pick up the phone.’

Sweat trickles down Hannah’s back and gathers at the waistband of her trousers. Her neck and shoulder muscles tense. She must help Tina. Not just because it’s her job; because she has a connection with this young woman. It’s so much more than that. Helping Tina would be a recompense of sorts. To herself.

She focuses on Tina’s whimpering. Hannah can hear only one word being repeated over and over.

‘Please.’

‘Tina, Tina!’

‘Leave me alone. Please. Leave me alone.’

The cries assault Hannah’s ears. Her eyes sting with threatening tears.

Tina screams, then stops. Hannah hears a cry like a stricken puppy. There is scratching and scrabbling as if someone is being dragged then a resounding smack. Tina is silent.

‘You dirty fucking bitch.’

The man’s voice is close to the phone. Unlike Tina’s slurred words, his speech is enunciated with such clarity that Hannah freezes. He could be standing right next to her. He could be spitting those words into the back of her neck.

The phone is dead. Hannah sits with her headphones still in place, the line open. Silence. She is frozen in her seat. She blows out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She removes her headset with shaking hands. She types ‘line cleared’ and ‘call ended’ on her screen and marks herself as unavailable. She can’t take another call. She can’t speak.

The supervisor comes over and touches Hannah’s shoulder. All the handlers know what it’s like to take a tough call. But none of them will ever know what it was like for Hannah to take that call.

Because the man in Tina’s hotel room is the man who raped Hannah.

2

Stupid bitch. Stupid, dirty fucking bitch.

He looks down at the crumpled form lying on the floor and gives it a kick. He is the one in charge, he is the one who makes the rules. How dare she. Did he tell her she could call someone? Did he tell her she could leave the bed? He wants to stamp on her head but stamps on her mobile phone instead. No blood splatter that way.

The girl’s arm twitches. He is still wearing his gloves, so he kneels beside her and places his hands around her neck. Even as he squeezes, he marvels at how slender it is. When her face is drained of colour he stands up and checks his watch. That part always takes longer than he would like. Five and a half minutes despite his strong hands. He needs to get it down to five.

He dresses quickly. His clothes and shoes are impressively clean. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he removes a packet of antiseptic wipes which he uses to scrub all the surfaces around the bed. Each wipe is placed inside a plastic bag that contains the used condom. His last action is to place the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and wipe the door handles.

He leaves the room satisfied that he is leaving no trace of himself behind. It’s only when he removes the gloves that he notices the small tear at the side of his hand and the speck of blood from a graze. How the fuck did that happen? He hesitates, wondering if he should go back into the room. He has no memory of catching his hand on anything and the hole is tiny. Besides, he wiped down everything thoroughly. Didn’t he? Yes, of course he did. He’s good at this now.

The whine of an ascending lift makes up his mind. He takes the stairs to the lower car park and walks past the parked cars. There is one CCTV camera near the exit which he avoids easily by using the pedestrian door. He shoulders the door open to avoid leaving a fingerprint. His car is parked across the street.

As he takes the steering wheel he glances at his hand. The mark is barely more than a pinprick, but it makes him angry all the same. There is a scowl on his face as he drives away. He knows that one drop of blood is all it takes to identify an offender and even though he tries to reassure himself that he wiped everything down thoroughly, a germ of unease is niggling away inside his brain.

What the hell was that girl up to? What did she think she was doing? Who was she talking to?

Stupid bitch. Stupid, dirty fucking bitch.

3

Everything was the same.

The drugged drink, an anonymous hotel, the words, the voice. Especially the voice. Even when her useless body refused to move Hannah’s hearing had remained crystal clear. She is certain that the man who attacked, is attacking Tina right now, is the same man who attacked her.

Hannah knows what he is capable of. She was terrified enough to run away and hide herself from him, from the world. But she did nothing. She was too weak, too scared, too ashamed. She told no-one.

I should have reported him, thinks Hannah. I might have stopped him from hurting Tina. The pressure of the supervisor’s hand encourages Hannah to leave her desk.

‘Let’s have a debrief, Hannah.’

The supervisor has been in the job eighteen years. She doesn’t need or expect a response. And Hannah has nothing to give. Colleagues’ eyes swivel towards her as she leaves her desk and walks with exaggerated care towards the office. One foot must follow the other.

Even a toddler can do it.

Hannah’s left shoulder bangs against the wall as her equilibrium shifts and the floor undulates around her.

She pushes herself away from the wall with her left hand and raises her right towards the colleague who is already half out of her chair ready to help.

I’m okay, she gestures, I’ll be fine.

The debrief is not something that Hannah has had to do very often, and she’s relieved when it’s over.

She half staggers back past her desk, through the double doors into the corridor and heads for the break room. The compact space is over-heated but mercifully empty. Hannah falls onto a coffee-stained sofa. Her hands cover her eyes. She leans forward and supports her head, its weight almost too much to bear. She waits for the deluge of tears to arrive but when it doesn’t, she slumps back and closes her eyes. They spring open as the break-room door opens. Angie’s voice. Her confidante in all things job-related. She can’t tell her this.

‘Do you need anything, Hannah? Coffee? Company?’

A shake of Hannah’s head is enough. Hannah loves her for not being pushy. Angie withdraws with a gentle smile and closes the door behind her. Hannah shuts her eyes again.

Devastating calls are part of the job. A baby found dead in its cot; a child’s face torn apart by an unleashed dog; a mother killed by a drunken youth speeding across a pedestrian crossing; an arson attack on a family targeted because of the colour of their skin. Fortunately, those calls are few and far between. Even seasoned call handlers count them in single digits. But this one is different.

This one is personal.

Despite her head feeling as if excavators are rooting around in her brain matter, Hannah is aware that the shift is a handler down. Right at this minute, someone might be waiting for the police to answer their call. Someone like Tina. Perhaps the call is from the person who has found Tina and officers are on their way to rescue her. Perhaps she managed to scream, and someone heard her.

Already someone will be applying for permission to trace Tina’s call, experts will be analysing its content and city hotels will be put on alert. Please, God, let it be enough. Hannah must get back to her desk and be in a fit state to work.

Hot, sweet tea is the enduring remedy for shock, but she opts for sugarless coffee. She leaves the sofa and crosses to the tired excuse for a kitchen. The kettle is half full and warm so boils quickly. Hannah’s mug has been used by someone else and sits beneath the dripping tap. She washes it and rinses it out with boiling water before she fills the mug with strong, black, bulk-buy coffee. It’s disgusting but the foul taste makes it feel like medicine and she gulps it down.

The clock tells her it’s twenty past four. Where did the time go? How long was Tina’s call? How long has she been in the break room? She needs to return to work. She can’t do that with her head in this state.

She goes back over the phone call in her head. She heard one sentence. Can she be one hundred per cent certain it was the same voice? It wasn’t the same name. Her attacker called himself Dan. Dan who? She doesn’t know his surname, his address, or anything useful at all.

‘You dirty fucking bitch.’

It was him. Wasn’t it?

Hannah shakes her head as the memories of her own attack assault her brain. Over and over. The same words erupting from his mouth, droplets of saliva spattering her shoulders. His hand pressed against the back of her neck, pushing her face into the duvet with such force that she struggled to breathe. But even if she had wanted to fight, her physical ability to move had been sucked away like water swirling into a drain. Afterwards, she thought about people with locked-in syndrome, able to breathe and feel but not able to respond. She was this man’s rag doll, tossed onto the bed to be abused until he was done. As the door closed behind him leaving her helpless and immobile, he spat out the words one last time.

‘Dirty fucking bitch.’

Was it just that Hannah recognised the phrase? Or was it his voice? Her certainty is fading. If she does tell someone, how would he be found? All she has is his Christian name which is probably fake. Would she be in trouble for failing to report an incident that happened thirteen months ago? How could she explain why she didn’t? That she couldn’t face the disbelief of the police, the questions, the investigation. The sneers when she revealed that she was on a date, wore a short skirt, drank alcohol. That she went to a hotel room with a man she barely knew. That she doesn’t trust the police and would be better off waving down a bus if she’s in trouble.

Does that make it her fault that Tina has been hurt? Because she did nothing? All she has done since the attack is hide. From men, from the police, from everyone. She wants to go home and bury herself under her poppy duvet. Her safe place where